


Not So Mr. Nice Guy

by LadyLibby



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Innuendo, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Negan makes me feel things okay, Protective Negan (Walking Dead), Romance, Teacher Negan (Walking Dead), Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLibby/pseuds/LadyLibby
Summary: Fresh out of graduate school, you accept a job as an English teacher at your alma mater, Alexandria High School. A lot has changed since you left, and you’re no longer the awkward seventeen year old who’d spend her days in the library. Walking back into those hallways, you feel confident in your new adult self. That is, until you see a certain teacher again and realize that as much as you have changed, there’s no getting rid of the massive crush you had on your history teacher…
Relationships: Negan/You, Negan/reader, Rick Grimes/Michonne, Tara Chambler/Denise Cloyd
Comments: 26
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS MAN really makes me feel some type of way...and writing this was my way of venting those feelings. Also, I gave him a last name for the purposes of this fic, so don’t be alarmed when you see him referred to as Mr. Thomas. Okay, happy reading!

Returning to a familiar place in a new role is always a strange experience. Like coming home for the first time after college and trying to fit your new adult life into your parents’ home. Or sitting at the grown-ups table for the first time during the holidays. 

There’s a sadness in it, a loss of what used to be, a fear that those  _ were _ the good old days and you’ll never get them back. But there’s an excitement too, a thrill of being suddenly something new in an old space, of being reborn among all the things that inhabited your previous life.

Walking back into Alexandria High School felt like that. Fresh out of grad school, armed with a shiny degree, you re-entered the world of your adolescence under a brand new title: English teacher. 

Your new apartment was just a few blocks from the school, but you left extra early for the walk over just in case. 

“You’re gonna do great today, babe!” Your boyfriend Mark called from where he was still lying in bed as you gathered your things together. “Don’t even worry about it.” 

Although sweet, his encouragement did little to assuage your anxieties. A small part of you, the remnants of your awkward seventeen year old self, was certain the second you stepped through the doors you’d revert back to who you used to be. 

But you were a different person than the girl who’d walked across the stage in a cap and gown six years earlier. You were no longer the starry-eyed kid who’d spent hours scribbling notes at those awful metal desks. 

No, you were a woman with skills and qualifications and ideas. You knew who you were and what you wanted to do. Linoleum floors and metal lockers weren’t going to change that.  _ Nothing _ was going to change that. You wouldn’t let it. 

By the time you’d made it to the cafeteria for your first faculty meeting, you’d calmed down significantly. You felt cool and confident in your new place at Alexandria High School. Looking out at the teachers and staff sitting at the tables and standing by the small breakfast bar chatting over coffee and muffins, you convinced yourself you belonged. 

“Hey there, stranger.” A voice at a nearby table called your attention. 

“Ms. Hawthorne– I mean, Michonne,” You smiled at the woman who’d single-handedly inspired your love of literature. “It’s really good to see you.” 

“You too, Y/N.” She smiled back. 

You’d always loved her smile, wide and bright. Michonne beckoned you towards the table, moving her bag from the chair beside her to the floor. 

“Come, join your new colleagues. I don’t think I have to re-introduce anyone.” 

“No,” You smiled at the other English teachers at the table – Tyreese and Tara, “But I’m definitely going to forget to call you by your first names for a few weeks. So I’m sorry in advance.” 

“I still feel weird about being called Ms. Chamblers. Tara feels so much more natural.” 

“I don’t know,” Tyreese leaned back in his chair, “Mr. Williams makes me feel all important. Gotta let the youths know who’s in charge, right Y/N?” 

“‘Youths?’” You parroted skeptically. 

“That group of unsculpted young minds you once inhabited.” Tyreese joked. “Have to show them your innate superiority as an all-knowing adult.”

“I don’t know…” You looked around the room. “It doesn’t look that different from lunch. Do you all have to sit by department, or is it actually as clique-y as high school?” 

Michonne shook her head, amused. “Not really. Ezekiel likes to let us have department planning and talking time during these, so it’s just easier to sit together. Although I’d like to think we’re friends too.”

“Speak for yourself. I’d much rather be sitting with my gorgeous girlfriend.” Tara scoffed. “She always had lollipops in her pockets too, so it’s kinda a win-win.” 

“You’re dating Dr. Cloyd?” You asked, looking between her and the school nurse seated with the science teachers. 

“Hell yeah I am.” Tara confirmed. 

“Dude, you’re here!” The chair on your other side pulled back with a small screech as a newcomer plopped down beside you. 

“Hey, Jerry.” 

You’d been calling the school’s jovial librarian by his first name since your freshman year. He’d insisted that anyone who spent as much time there as you did got first-name privileges.

Jerry grinned, patting your shoulder. “I was so jazzed when I heard you got the job! Had you pegged for a future English teacher from day one.” 

“Well that makes one of us,” you laughed, “I had no idea what I wanted to be back then.”

“Oh it was totally obvious! The average fourteen year old doesn’t spend her free periods in the class lit section, you know. You might not have realized it up here,” he tapped his forehead, “But that kind of stuff is ingrained deep in here.” Jerry pressed his palm over his heart. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” You nodded. 

“For sure.” Jerry held out his fist. 

You bumped his knuckles with your own, warmed by memories of fist-bumping him every day on your way out of the library. You’d missed this. 

“Order, everyone, order!” The commanding voice which guided so many assemblies quieted the room. “Please take your seats, and we will begin this majestic school year!” 

Ezekiel, dramatic yet deeply caring vice principal, called the meeting to order. 

“Before I hand things over to our most wonderful leader Carol Petelier, I wanted to take but a brief moment to introduce two new additions to our faculty.” Ezekiel declared. “First, Siddiq Choudhary, who is joining our Science department. He’s coming to us from the Field School in DC. This year, Siddiq will be taking on AP Chemistry and AP Biology as well as coaching track.” 

Siddiq, a young guy only a few years older than you with olive skin and intelligent eyes, stood from his spot at a table over to your left, giving everyone a small, somewhat awkward wave before sitting down again. 

“And the other is no stranger to the hallowed halls of Alexandria High School. We are incredibly lucky to welcome Y/N L/N back into the Alexandrian family as a member of the English department and advisor to the student literary magazine.” 

You stood as well, looking out at all the familiar faces now turned in your direction. Your smile faltered, however, as you met a certain brown-eyed stare from the History department table– Negan’s stare. 

In that instant, every change, every development, every moment which separated you from your younger self disappeared and you found yourself back in your AP US History classroom listening to the deep, dulcet tones of your favorite teacher. You’d spent that entire year drinking in every piece of knowledge he had to share like a woman dying in the desert. And after a while, it was hard not to be distracted watching his lithe movements or easy smiles, to wonder what it would be like to be with someone like him– intelligent, mature, witty. What it would be like if he thought about kissing you the way you imagined kissing him. 

But it was just a crush, a harmless little crush of a teenage girl aching for something more than stupid high school boys. A crush you’d successfully forgotten for the last six years of your life. 

Until now. 

A smile spread across his face, slow and smooth. His eyes crinkled with that same knowing mischief you’d found so deeply attractive years ago. 

You blinked, coming back to reality. Sitting quickly, you brushed your hands over your skirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. Your collar felt too tight, your face burned hot. 

“You okay?” Michonne whispered as Ezekiel continued with the meeting. 

“Yeah,” You nodded. “Just don’t like standing up in front of groups like that.”

Tyreese scoffed, shaking his head. “You thought that was bad, just wait until you’re staring a room of hormonal teenagers in the face.” 

Tara nudged him with her shoulder for that remark, but you barely noticed. You were too busy trying not to look over at the History table. For the rest of the meeting, you kept your focus squarely on the words of your new boss and the little notebook on the table in front of you as you jotted down a few notes. 

By the end of the meeting, you were relieved to walk with Michonne and the others back to the English office where you could better focus on your lesson plans. 

You should have known that wouldn’t stop him. 

“A fucking  _ English _ teacher? You  _ trying _ to break my heart?” 

The deep rumble of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, making you freeze in place as you grabbed fresh pages off the printer. Slowly, trying to keep your heartbeat under control, you turned around. 

Negan stood in the office doorway, leaning his shoulder into one side of the door jamb and fixing you with a teasing smile. He was dressed down without students present, dark jeans slung low on his hips with a white tee shirt underneath a vintage leather jacket. He’d grown a beard since you left, the salt and pepper scruff somehow more devastating than the clean-shaven look you remembered. His hair was different too– slightly mussed and unruly rather than slicked back. 

He was like fine wine. It drove you insane. 

“What’s wrong with being an English teacher?” You said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, Negan.” Michonne echoed, glancing at the two of you from her desk, “What’s wrong with that?” 

“Generally speaking, nothing.” He raised his hands at Michonne in a placating gesture before fixing his stare back on you, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “But with you, Ms. L/N, it’s a damn shame. Best fucking student I’ve ever had and she decides to become an English teacher. Hell, I’m just trying not to take it personally.”

“Hey, I double majored in English and History with a masters in American Studies. I’m doing you a favor.” You said. 

Negan raised his eyebrows, pushing off the doorframe. “And how’s that?” 

Moving closer, he forced you to look up in order to meet his gaze. He was near enough now you could smell his cologne– woodsy and clean, like mint and pine and something else that made your thoughts start to get jumbled and fuzzy. 

“I’m not taking your job.” You shrugged as casually as you could, trying to ignore the heat prickling at the back of your neck. “Principal Petelier gave me two options: boot you out or join the English department. I was feeling merciful.” 

Negan tipped his head back, laughing loudly. He leveled his amber gaze at you once more, eyes crinkling as he took you in. 

“Look at you,” He mused, shaking his head. “You always acted older, smarter, than your age but now…” 

It took everything in you not to squirm under his appraisal, blood rushing in your ears and your cheeks burning. 

“Now you’re all grown up.  _ Damn _ .” He bit his lip. “It is fucking  _ good _ to see you again.” 

“Yeah,” You swallowed thickly, hating how breathy your voice sounded. “You too.” 

Silence fell for a moment, leaving the two of you just staring– him smirking, you in thinly-veiled awe. 

The sound of your phone chiming in your pocket broke the trance. You blinked, dropping your gaze quickly to your feet. 

“Well, if I wanna keep my job it looks like I better put in some extra fucking work.” Negan said with a wink, “See you later, sweetheart.” 

Your heart stuttered.  _ Traitor. _

Negan shook his head again, chuckling as if sharing in a secret joke with himself as he turned and walked back out of the office. As soon as he was out of sight, you exhaled, reaching up to brush your hair away from your face. You gathered your papers from the printer and moved to your desk, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. 

“Still crushing on him, I see.” 

Your head snapped to look at Michonne, eyes wide. “Wh–what?” 

“Come on,” She shot you an unimpressed look. “You were not at all subtle about it when you were seventeen. We saw the stars in your eyes when you looked at him from  _ miles _ away. I thought you might have gotten over it since but that was like watching Benedick and Beatrice  _ after  _ they realized they liked each other.” 

“I don’t–um, I don’t have a crush on him. Maybe when I was seventeen and stupid but I don’t–I just haven’t seen him in years and I was nervous so–I  _ don’t _ have a crush on him. He’s–he’s like twenty years older than me. Twenty-five.” 

Michonne pressed her lips together and you could tell she was trying not to smile. 

“I’m not one to judge, I understand the appeal of the handsome history teacher.” She and the military history teacher Rick Grimes had gotten married your sophomore year. 

You pulled your phone out of your pocket to check the notification. 

**Mark | 12:27 pm |** were out of milk

**Mark | 12:27 pm |** also im coming over tonight so pick up a six pack or smth ;) 

**Mark | 12:28 pm** | hope its going well btw 

“Also,” You said to Michonne, “I have a boyfriend. So...yeah.” 

Michonne held up her hands in surrender, turning back to her computer. “Whatever you say.” 

You texted Mark back, tapping the screen a little harder than necessary as you told him you’d walk by the store on your way home. You took a deep breath, resolving to push away your residual attraction to Negan. It was just because you were back after so long, seeing him again. Just a little nostalgia. You’d get over it. 

You  _ had  _ to get over it. 

~

“Shit, look at the TILF over there.” Mark teased, pinching your butt as he moved past you into the bathroom.

You lowered the mascara, giving him an unamused look in the mirror. 

“Very much  _ not _ what I was going for on the first day. Is the dress too short? Too tight? I’m trying  _ not _ to look like one of my students.” 

“Nah,” Mark smiled, “I’d like to fuck you no matter what you’re wearing. You just happen to be a teacher now.” 

“Classy.” You rolled your eyes. “Real romantic there, Casanova.” 

Mark grabbed his toothbrush, squeezing a giant blob of the minty paste onto the brush. He wasn’t dressed for work– his cashier uniform replaced by a nicer white button-up and slacks. You didn’t even know he’d kept a pair of dress clothes at your place. He normally existed in his uniform or sweats with little in between. 

“Do you have an interview today?” 

Mark nodded, speaking around the brush. “Obbice job. Embtry lebel sales position.” 

“That’s amazing!” You grinned, turning to face him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

He shrugged before spitting out the toothpaste. “Forgot.” 

“Well break a leg, I’m sure you’ll impress them.” You leaned forward and kissed him gently. “When is it?” 

“Uh, noon I think.” 

“Cool. Why don’t we do something special tonight? Celebrate your interview and my first day.”

“Me and the guys were gonna do this tournament thing tonight.” 

“Oh.” You tried not to let your disappointment through in your tone. “Well that’s fine. I’ll probably have things to do– grading and plans and stuff. I’ll just order in and do that, then.” 

“Sorry babe.” Mark kissed the side of your head, moving back towards the door. “I’ll come over tomorrow night though.” 

“Okay, that sounds nice.” 

He called back to you. “Go show those kids who’s boss!” 

“Yeah…” 

You looked down, noticing a big glob of toothpaste stuck to the sink. Sighing, you grabbed some toilet paper and wiped it up. You washed your hands and then stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment. 

One more deep breath, and then you were off to face the first day of classes. 

~

“Okay, but Mercutio and Benvolio are totally a couple, right?” 

You laughed, gathering up your papers. “That depends on how you look at it. If we’re applying a lens of queer theory, absolutely. Tell me why you think they’re together.” 

Enid, one of your students, always came up to your desk after class with a question or a comment, or (most often) both. Her boyfriend Carl usually came with her, although you could tell he was there because he was interested, not just because he was following Enid. 

“Well they always enter and exit together, and in the clips you showed us Mercutio is always touching Benvolio and flirting with him.” 

“Interesting,” You nodded, “Some of that is the staging of that particular adaptation, but I think you’re right that the director was thinking along the same lines as you are. But was there anything else in the text that supports your theory?” 

“Well–” Carl cleared his throat, peering at you from under his shaggy hair, “This is different, but in  _ Twelfth Night _ , Olivia falls in love with Viola. Yeah, she thinks she’s a man but Viola’s not acting like somebody named Cesario, she’s just being herself but as a guy. So Olivia falls in love with a woman.” 

“But then doesn’t that mean gender is meaningless?” Enid asked, though you were focused on her, you could see someone in the doorway of the classroom. “Viola was being Viola but Olivia thought she was Cesario. Man or woman, Viola was who Olivia loved, right?” 

“That, my friends,” You said, “Is stuff I wasn’t even thinking about until I got to college. So keep all that in mind and you’re on track to some pretty interesting stuff in the world of literary studies. But right now I don’t want you to be late for your next class and–” 

You finally looked up, your breath hitching slightly as you realized exactly  _ who _ was standing in the doorway. Hands in his pockets and a big smile on his face, Negan watched you. 

“Mr. Thomas seems to be looking for me.” You said, keeping your expression calm despite how much faster your heart was beating. 

“Thanks, Ms. L/N.” Carl smiled gently, adjusting his backpack. 

“See you both tomorrow.” You nodded. 

Negan took a few steps into the classroom. As Carl passed, Negan punched him affectionately on the shoulder before turning his attention back to you. 

“What brings you to my classroom, Negan?” You asked, impressed with how nonchalant you sounded. 

“You know, I can’t decide which sounds better coming from you– ‘Negan’ or ‘Mr. Thomas.’”

You blinked, searching for a response. To your relief, Negan continued on as if he had no idea how suggestive his words had sounded. 

“Just came to keep an eye on the competition.” He came to stand on the other side of the desk, his gaze raking from your head to your toes and then back again. “Looking like there’s a new favorite in town.” 

“Please,” You waved him off. “You always had students who wanted to stay late to talk to you.” 

“Hey, speaking of that–” A slow smile spread across his face. “When you’d come up to my desk, did it ever occur to you that you might’ve got things backwards?” 

You furrowed your brow, confused. “What do you mean?” 

Negan set his hands on your desk, leaning forward as his voice lowered to a deep rumble. “You never wondered whether  _ I  _ wanted to talk to  _ you _ ?”

You swallowed thickly, amazed that your knees hadn’t yet buckled. “Did you?” 

He was quiet for a moment, watching you carefully and smiling in a way that told you he knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing. And then he straightened up again. 

“‘Course I fucking did.” He said, sincerely. “Smartest damn student to grace this place in fifteen years. Hell yeah I wanted to talk to you.” 

You let out a little laugh, looking away. “What my seventeen year old self would have given to hear that…”

When you looked back up, Negan’s expression had changed. Not dramatically, but the playfulness had turned thoughtful as he studied you. He narrowed his eyes, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

“Well,” You said, your voice too high-pitched and desperate. “I should probably–um, I have some discussion questions to write.” 

“I won’t distract you, then.” Negan smirked, backtracking to the door. “Always good talking to you, Ms. L/N.”

“You too Mr. Thomas.” 

Negan hummed, slapping the doorframe on his way out before shouting over his shoulder. “No, I definitely like that one better!” 

Exhaling deeply, you slumped down into your chair. “Fuck.” 

~

“Dammit.”

You let the essay fall into your lap, closing your eyes in frustration. You let your head fall back against the headboard of the bed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What’s up?” Over at his desk, Mark moved one headphone away from his ear, keeping his gaze on the computer game in front of him. 

“I think one of my students plagiarized.” You sighed. “I  _ know _ he plagiarized. This whole paragraph is straight out of SparkNotes.” 

“What are you going to do?” Mark asked, jamming one of the keys to shoot a character in the game. “Fail him?” 

“No, no.” You sighed, chewing on the end of your purple pen. “I should talk to him. Talk to him and explain that he can’t do this kind of thing and then let him re-write the essay. Right?”

“Oh, babe, no. You’re the cool, hot, young English teacher. Giving him a lecture is going to make him hate you.” Mark scoffed. “This kinda thing is going to bite him in the ass eventually. Just let it go and he’ll learn for himself. You’re not his mom, you know?” 

You opened your mouth, but no response came right away you were so blown away by how  _ bad  _ his advice was. Before you could form the words, he jumped slightly at something in his game, swearing and clicking furiously. 

Picking up the essay again, you sighed. You couldn’t remember a solid policy on plagiarism from your time at Alexandria High, but you knew this definitely wouldn’t be the first case. One of your colleagues would know what to do. 

Setting the paper aside, you resolved to ask Michonne about it the next day. 

Only she wasn’t there. 

“She’s home with our three year old.” Rick explained when you stopped by his office to ask after her. “Judith has some kinda bug going around her preschool.” 

“Oh no,” You frowned. “I’m sorry. I hope she feels better soon.” 

Rick waved his hand, smiling. “I’m sure 60% of it is just dramatics to get Mommy to stay and play with her.” 

You laughed. “Can you blame her?” 

“Hell no. If a cough was all I needed to get her to spend a day at home with me I’d be sick all the time.” Rick said. “Speaking of the Grimes-Hawthorne household: Carl can’t stop talking about your class.” 

“Really?” Your heart warmed at the admission. “Well he’s one of my most engaged students. You’re raising a really good kid, Rick.” 

Rick huffed out a laugh. “Doesn’t feel like it most of the time.” 

“Teenagers...they’re...well, they’re who they are.” 

“Yes they are.” Rick shook his head. “Yes they are.” 

As if on cue, a whole gaggle of them came around the corner into the History department suite. You recognized the senior girls by association– Tanya, Frankie, and Amber. 

“Hey Mr. Grimes,” Tanya greeted, “Is Mr. Thomas here?” 

“Why don’t you knock on his door and check?” Rick suggested, giving you a look that said  _ I know what this is about _ . 

With a slight queasy feeling in your stomach, you realized you knew what it was about too. Although you were the only one who showed up with a genuine historical curiosity, you weren’t the only one to have a crush on Negan in your high school days. And apparently that hadn’t changed in the last six years. 

Pushing her hair over her shoulders to properly show off the low-cut black blouse she was wearing, Amber stepped up to the door and knocked. 

No answer. Not even a noise from inside. 

A part of you – one you hated with every fiber of your being – was relieved. 

“Maybe come back later?” You suggested with a smile. 

The three girls looked at you like you were a piece of lint stuck to their leggings, their disappointment at missing Negan transforming into irritation with you. 

“My ears are burning…” Came a sing-song voice from around the corner. 

You felt a mix of excitement and dismay as the man himself appeared, grinning like the cat that just caught the world’s most elusive mouse. 

“You ladies need me?” He asked, holding out his arms in presentation. 

Frankie nodded eagerly. “Yeah, we had–” 

“We wanted to ask about History programs in college.” Tanya interrupted. 

“Well,” Negan’s gaze slid over to you, an eyebrow quirking up. “This is the History department.”

Rick cleared his throat, clearly tired of The Negan Show. “What was it you needed Michonne for, Y/N? Anything I could help with?” 

“Oh, just an...incident. I was looking for some advice, but it can wait.” You said. “I’ll talk to her later–” 

“You know what,” Negan spoke up, clapping his hands together, “It is a little known fact around her that Mr. Grimes used to work at King Community College.” 

Rick looked at his colleague, clearly wondering where Negan was going with this. 

“As much as I love talking with you all, he’s much better equipped to answer your collegiate inquiries.” Negan said, ushering the girls towards Rick’s door. 

You stumbled to get out of the way, nearly running straight into Negan in the process. You were hit with the woodsy smell of him again making your thoughts jumbled. He put one of his big, warm hands on the small of your back, and your thoughts disappeared altogether. You thought you heard him say something about your class and providing his services, but you were too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other on your way into his office to really listen. 

You settled down into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, repressing a shiver as his hand trailed lightly over your spine before he moved to sit down across from you. 

“So,” He sat back in his desk chair, loosening his tie and propping his feet up on the desk. “What’s this ‘incident’ you’re dealing with?” 

You couldn’t help but smile. He always sat like that, fingers steepled and feet up, and the sight brought a certain sense of comfort, of familiarity. It felt like coming home again. 

“What?” He furrowed his brow. “That wasn’t a lie was it? Oh my fucking God it was, wasn’t it? You just said that to make me all jealous about you going to some other teacher for help. Is it because you’re worried I like talking to the three Heathers out there more than I like talking to you? Because sweetheart, I promise there is no fucking competition–” 

“No!” You cut him off, your face burning. “There is an incident.” 

“Then what the hell was that big dopey grin?”

“I just…” You bit your lip, trying to keep another one at bay. “I missed sitting in your office with you.” 

With the size of the smile spreading across his face, you’d think you’d just handed him the moon. 

“Well, shit.” He grinned. “I missed sitting here with you, too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Cross my heart and hope to die, baby.” He pressed his palm over his chest in a dramatic gesture before letting it drop again. “But unfortunately, that’s not why we’re here. What’s going on?” 

“One of my kids cheated. His whole introduction on the last paper was copied from SparkNotes.” 

“Shit. Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Who was it?” 

“Ron Anderson. He’s in my tenth grade Shakespeare course.” 

“Yeah, I know him.” Negan grumbled. “This isn’t his first, but goddamn, I thought he’d at least be more subtle. Jesus.” 

“I was thinking I’d keep him after class and talk to him about it. Either he re-writes the paper in his own words or I give him an F on the assignment.” You said, fidgeting with your hands. “What do you think?” 

“I think you’re a lot fucking nicer than I am.” Negan smirked. “Either he re-writes it or he fails  _ and _ takes a trip to see Carol.” 

You chuckled. “Now  _ that’s _ a threat.” 

“Damn right.” Negan agreed. “But the kid’s gotta get it into his head that there are consequences for this shit.” 

“Yeah,” You nodded, standing up. “Yeah, okay. Thank you.” 

“Anytime, sweetheart.” Negan smiled, watching as you opened the office door. “And come by more often. I meant it when I said there’s no competition.” 

Your heart stuttering in your chest at his words, you just managed to nod in acknowledgement before hurrying out of the office. 

~

“Okay, so the dance ends at ten, we’re expecting them all to have been picked up by ten forty-five, elevenish.” You said as Mark pulled up outside Alexandria High.

A banner hung above the front doors, “Happy Homecoming Alexandria!” It was the same one they’d used all four years you’d been there. You were pretty sure that thing had been around since the ‘80s. Maybe the beginning of time, judging from the fraying around the edges. 

You could see a few members of the Student Council hurrying around the entrance to the gym just past the front, putting together the final touches. A handful of teachers stood around the front, chatting before chaperone assignments were doled out for the night. 

“Can you be back at like ten forty-five just in case we’re done early?” 

“Sure.” Mark nodded, wiggling his eyebrows. “And then the afterparty’s at my place, right?” 

You shook your head, smiling. “The type of party will depend on how tired I am when this is over. I might want the Let’s Go to Bed and Sleep in Tomorrow Party.” 

“Ugh,” Mark scoffed. “You’ve been hanging out with too many old people, babe. You’re turning into one.” 

“You’ll join our ranks someday,” You said, trying to keep a hold on the irritation flickering in your chest. “Hey speaking of– did you ever hear back about that sales thing?” 

“What sales thing?” 

“Your interview a couple weeks back. The one on my first day. You never said how it went.” 

“Oh that.” Mark said. “I ended up skipping that. Midnite 5 dropped that morning and Cody invited me over to play it. Decided the job would be too boring, anyway, so I didn’t go.” 

“You…” You blinked at him in disbelief. “You skipped a job interview to play video games?” 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Like I said, it would have been too–” 

“Mark, you can’t just pass up opportunities like that! It might have been amazing.” 

Mark rolled his eyes. “Babe, I’m twenty-six. I can make my own decisions, okay? I’m not one of your little book nerds. I don’t need you to lecture me.” 

You forced yourself to take a deep breath. 

“You’re right. I didn’t mean to tell you what to do,” You said, keeping your tone level. “I just...I want you to be able to do all the things you want to do. Look, I should really get in there, but we should talk about this later. Okay?” 

“Only if I get my afterparty with the TILF.” Mark said, leaning over the console to kiss you. 

You kissed him back, but only for an instant before pulling away again. It felt...weird. Wrong, somehow. Probably because you were at your workplace. 

“Okay, I’ll see you–” 

“Woah.” Mark interrupted, looking over your shoulder through the passenger side window. “You got another dad I didn’t know about?” 

“What?” 

You turned to see what he was looking at and your heart plummeted. Negan stood a few feet away, watching you with a stony expression. Heat rushed to your face and you looked away quickly, scrambling to grab your purse. 

“Not my dad. Definitely not my dad. That’s–he’s one of my colleagues.” You said, fumbling to open the car door. “I have to go, but I’ll see you at ten forty-five.” 

“Yeah,” Mark agreed, clearly amused. “I’ll be back before curfew.” 

“Okay bye.” You said quickly, shutting the door. 

Draping the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you turned around. 

“Hey Negan,” You greeted with a pressed smile, before trying to walk as calmly as possible towards the front doors. 

“I see,” Negan fell into step with you, hands in his pockets. “We’re playing that game. Alright, sweetheart, I’ll bite: who’s your little getaway driver?” 

You made a point of opening the door for him, trying to sound as casual as possible. “My boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” He laughed in a way that told you he didn’t think it was funny at all. “And does this  _ boyfriend _ have a name?” 

“Mark.” You answered simply, walking towards the gym. 

“Mark.” Negan echoed from behind you, the name sounding like the stupidest word in the world. 

Before he could ask you anything else, you hurried ahead of him over to the ticket table. Tara, who was in charge of organizing the chaperones, greeted you with a big smile. Even though you were inside a dark gym, she wore a pair of sparkly sunglasses.

“Happy Homecoming, Ms. L/N!” 

“And to you as well.” You smiled back. “Where do you need me?” 

“Hmm,” Tara lifted the glasses so she could peer at the clipboard beside her. “You’re stationed over by the snacks with...ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear. Negan, you and Y/N are on punch-monitor duty for the next few hours.” 

“Well,” His voice resonated in your ear as Negan stopped just behind you, the warmth of his body radiating into yours. “Now it’s a fucking party.” 

“Hey, language.” Tara pointed at him. 

“Eh, they can’t hear me over that crap anyway.” Negan nodded to the speakers blaring incomprehensible rap music before setting his hand on the small of your back and steering you towards the far side of the gym. “Looks like the universe is on my side tonight. Or maybe it’s just Tara.” 

You put all your focus into your breath, trying not to feel like worlds were colliding in the worst way humanly possible. Somehow, you’d managed to convince yourself that as long as Negan didn’t know about Mark, it was fine. You weren’t going to do anything, of course you weren’t, but the illusion you’d built, one where Mark and Negan had nothing to do with each other, made your crush okay. 

But it wasn’t okay. And you needed to face that. 

There were a few kids by the snack table already, their presence providing you at least a few minutes to gather your thoughts before the conversation you felt looming. 

You leaned against the wall, watching the small gaggle of gangly teenage boys loading up on brownies and chips while they eyed the sparsely populated dance floor. Negan was watching you. You could feel it– in the tingle at the back of your neck and the heat prickling under your skin. He was watching you, waiting. 

After a while, the boys caught sight of a few others arriving, moving as an uncoordinated herd over toward their friends. Stubbornly refusing to start a conversation yourself, you continued to ignore Negan. If he wanted to talk, he could talk. In the meantime, you moved closer to the table, straightening the containers and bowls and stacks of cups. 

“I remember seeing you at these things.” 

His statement caught you off-guard. You turned around, seeing him leaning on the wall, one leg bent with his foot against the concrete. 

“You and your friends danced the whole time. The whole fucking time, just having fun out there together.” Negan swept his gaze from the dancefloor over to you, his eyes black in the low light of the gym. “Never saw you leave to gossip in the bathroom or take pictures in your little dresses. You just danced.” 

Tentatively, you moved to lean against the wall next to him. 

“I mean, it’s called a  _ dance _ –” 

“Yeah but that’s not what it’s about. Come on,” Negan scoffed, his head lolling against the wall to look down at you. “It’s about a bunch of hormonal teenagers playing pretend for a couple of hours, pretending they’re all mysterious and grown-up and then being too fucking horny and scared to actually talk to anyone other than the three people they talk to every day. Dancing is just the excuse for the rest of that shit.” 

“Enid is dancing.” You said, nodding towards the small group in the middle of the floor. “So is Carl.” 

“Yeah, well, his dad isn’t here so he’s comfortable being himself for a bit.” Negan said. “And Enid wants to be you when she grows up, so I’m sure that aligns with her new motto: WWYD.” 

“WWYD?” 

“What Would Y/N Do?”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little at that, rolling your eyes. “Shut up.” 

“I think we both know that’s not fucking happening, sweetheart.” He smiled. “At least not as long as you ask like that.” 

“I just wanted to let go.” You said, your voice quiet. “I was so...tense. I was so tense in high school. It was all about getting it right, being the smartest and getting good grades and doing well. So when they’d hang up that stupid banner and lower the lights and play the music, I felt like I could just...be for a while. No expectations. No pressure. Just me dancing with my friends.” 

“Does Mark dance with you?” 

You shot him a look. 

“Okay, sorry. You were being vulnerable and shit. Sorry.” Negan looked genuinely regretful. “I just...I’m trying to wrap my head around how someone like  _ that _ guy ended up with someone so astronomically out of his league.” 

“I’m not–look, he’s a nice guy.” 

“Oh, a nice guy.” Negan raised an eyebrow. “And what does Mr. Nice Guy do for a living?” 

“He’s–he, um, he works at Food Lion. He’s a cashier right now but he’s been interviewing for other jobs in sales and stuff.” You addressed your answer to the space next to Negan’s ear, unable to keep eye contact as the flimsy answers left your mouth. “He’s big into gaming with his friends. They do tournaments and things. I think they’re pretty good.” 

“I’m swooning already.” 

“Look–” 

“Did the size of his joystick just knock your socks off?” 

You clamped your mouth shut, your face burning with embarrassment. Comparing them in your mind, Mark was like a barely literate fifteen year old standing next to the Greek God Apollo. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Flustered and embarrassed, you crossed your arms defensively. “It’s–it’s personal and I don’t see how it’s fair that you get to ask so much about me and I don’t–look, I’m not over here asking all about you and Lucille.” 

You’d met his wife once, at a baseball game. Negan had been coaching the varsity team since he’d first started at Alexandria. 

She’d happened to sit down next to you and asked if you were a student. You’d said yes, and given your name. Lucille had smiled a sort of tight smile that was meant to be kind, but didn’t quite reach her eyes. You’re in Negan’s class, aren’t you, she’d said. He always says you’re one of his best students, she’d said. 

Ever since, that smile had come back into your mind when your thoughts started to wander, picturing Negan’s hands in your hair or his chest pressed up against you. That smile, the reminder that he was a married man, married to a lovely woman, would bring you back to reality. 

He wasn’t like you, thinking about another man while your boyfriend sat just a few feet away. That was why your crush was so maddeningly absurd. Negan was, and would always be unattainable. 

“Lucille and I split up.” 

You could practically feel your brain short-circuit. Snapping your head to the side, you stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Wh–you did?” 

He rubbed at the stubble on his cheek, smiling slightly. For the first time, you noticed that his left hand was bare. No more wedding ring. 

“Yeah. Four years ago.”

“Oh.” You breathed. “I’m...I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waved you off. “It was a long time fucking coming. Things had been falling apart since...they were falling apart for a while.”

“Still, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” He said, propping his forearm against the wall beside your head. “Listen, I’m sorry about the joystick thing. That was too far. I just–you’re a fucking amazing person, Y/N. And I want you to be with someone that deserves you. Who realizes how goddamn special you are.” 

Negan was close enough now you could make out the subtle difference in color between his irises and his pupils in the reddish party lights. His expression had lost all its usual mischief and you knew he’d meant every single word. You stared at him, the straight line of his nose, the dark set of his eyebrows, the grey speckling his beard. 

Your chest felt too tight, emotions of longing and tenderness packed too close. It was too much, too hard not to just give in and lean forward the final few inches and throw all your morals and caution to the wind and kiss him like you’d been dreaming of for years. 

So you tore your gaze away, forcing yourself away from the wall and back over to the snack table. You straightened everything again, although no one had been by to mess with it since the first time around. Taking a deep breath, you collected yourself. Grabbing a napkin and putting two brownies onto it, you walked back. 

“So,” You looked out at the dancefloor, offering Negan a brownie. “How much do you want to bet on one of those boys from the geek squad asking someone to dance tonight?” 

Negan picked up one of the chocolate treats, chuckling. “Oh no fucking way that happens.” 

“I have faith.” You argued. “If one of them gets his courage up, you have to...proctor my study hall for me on Monday.” 

He grinned, playful spark shining in his eyes. “Okay, but  _ when _ he doesn’t do that, you have to let me make you dinner.” 

“Negan–” 

“Mr. Nice Guy can come too,” Negan added, although he didn’t sound happy about it. “You’re fresh out of grad school, sweetheart, I remember what that means for your finances. Let me make you dinner.” 

“I’m agreeing, but only because you’re not going to win.” 

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult,” He said, “I just can’t wait to see your face when you lose.” 

“We’ll see about that, now won’t we, Mr. Thomas?” 

He bit his lip, smiling. “That we will, sweetheart. That we will.” 

After another two hours, you were seriously regretting the trash talk. With five minutes left, none of the gangly gaggle had even danced, let alone asked anyone else to dance. 

“Monday work for you, sweetheart?” Negan said, leaning over your shoulder as the two of you started to clean up the snack table. 

“I’ve still got five minutes left.” 

“Come on, just give in.” 

You hesitated, holding out hope. But then you saw one of the boys check his phone and motion to the others. And then they all left. You sighed, shoulders slumping. 

“Alright, I admit defeat.” You relented. “Monday is fine by me  _ and Mark _ .” 

“Mark…” Negan let out a dramatic sigh. “He better not have any food allergies because I’m not changing the meal for him. Wait, do  _ you  _ have any food allergies?” 

“No,” You shook your head, grabbing your bag as the two of you headed towards the door to monitor pick-ups. “And I’m not high-maintenance either. I like good food, it doesn’t have to be fancy.” 

“Oh, it’s going to be the best damn meal you’ve ever had.” 

You opened your mouth to reply when movement a ways down the sidewalk caught your attention. Tara was waving for you to come join her. 

“My presence is required,” You said, nodding toward your colleague. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you on Monday, I guess.” 

“Can’t fucking wait, sweetheart.” 

Tara had wanted to introduce you to a parent of one of the students who’d gone to the same graduate program as you. After you chatted with them for a while and they headed home, you turned back to where you’d left Negan only to find him gone. You couldn’t help the disappointment swirling in your stomach. 

But you shook it off. You’d just spent three hours with the man, why were you so sad? It was fine. You were fine. 

You watched as the last few kids got into cars and waved them off. Out of the few cars parked in the lot, you didn’t see Mark’s. One by one, the other chaperones walked out and drove off. 

“You all set, Y/N?” Jerry asked, stopping on his way out. 

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for my ride.” 

“You sure?” 

“He’ll be here in a minute, it’s fine.” You assured him. 

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Jerry said. “See you Monday, dude.” 

“See you Monday.” 

After Jerry’s tail lights faded, you checked your phone. Eleven o’clock. Nothing from Mark. No texts, no missed calls or voicemails.

You clicked his contact for the third time in the last fifteen minutes. It rang and rang and rang and then “This is Mark, text me.” 

You hung up. There was nothing to say in a voicemail that you hadn’t already said in the two that came before. 

Tapping your phone against your palm, you contemplated the merits of waiting any longer. It was cold, and it would only get colder. At least the movement of walking back to your apartment might warm you up a little. 

You looked down at your phone again, hoping you’d somehow missed a text. With your attention occupied, you didn’t notice the sleek black car pulling around from the other side of the building until it was right in front of you. 

“I thought Mr. Nice Guy said he’d be here before curfew.” 

You jumped slightly, holding your phone to your chest as your heart beat wildly. 

“Negan, god, you scared me.” 

“Hop in,” Negan nodded his head towards the passenger seat. “I’ll take you home.” 

“He’s just running late–” 

“You wouldn’t be looking at your phone like a lost puppy if he was just late.” 

“We were going to go to his place but my apartment is within walking distance. I’ll just go home, it’s fine.” 

“You’re not walking home alone.” Negan said. “Get in the car.” 

“Negan–” 

“This isn’t negotiable sweetheart. Either we sit here until not-so-nice guy shows, or you get in the fucking car.” 

It wasn’t a hard decision. In fact, walking over and sliding onto the smooth leather of the passenger seat was one of the easiest things you’d ever done. The two of you didn’t talk much during the short trip to your apartment. Negan stared out at the empty night streets, his hands flexing against the steering wheel. He had an old Fleetwood Mac album playing quietly on the stereo and you only interrupted to give directions. 

“This is it.” You said, and he pulled into the small parking lot next to your apartment complex. 

“I’ll walk you up.” 

You didn’t argue. Negan followed you to the third floor, standing in stoic silence the whole way. It was strange, though, you didn’t really mind. His presence was more comforting than anything else. 

Negan waited while you unlocked your door, following you just inside as you turned on the lights and dropped your bag on the couch. He looked around, and you realized he was making sure no one else was there– that you were safe. 

“Thanks for driving me.” You said, coming back to the entryway. “It was definitely better than walking.” 

“You gonna be alright, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” You nodded, looking back towards your little home. “Just me. No ghosts or monsters or anything. Well, there’s that pile of grading I still need to do…” 

“Give me your phone.” 

“What?” You shot him a quizzical look. 

“Just for a second.” 

You unlocked it and handed it over. He held it low enough for you to see what he was doing– opening up a new contact page and typing in a number. 

“Anything happens, fucking anything at all,” Negan said, “And you need me, you call me. Got it? Time doesn’t matter. You call me.” 

He handed the phone back.

“Okay.” You agreed. 

“Good. Don’t let the grading get to you. You’re stronger than that shit.” Negan grasped your shoulders gently, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

“Goodnight,” You breathed, frozen in place as he pulled away and walked out of your apartment, pulling the door shut behind him. 

For minutes, even hours after he left, you could still feel the brush of Negan’s lips against your skin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The wrap-up we’ve all been waiting for. Thank you all so much for the love on this story, it’s been so incredibly heart-warming. And if you really really really want it, I’ll consider writing a follow up 👀
> 
> WARNING: Mild sexual content ahead

_ “You’re a fucking amazing person, Y/N. And I want you to be with someone that deserves you. Who realizes how goddamn special you are.” _

You spent the weekend in a daze, Negan’s voice echoing in your head, the tender, sincere expression on his face seared into your mind. Saturday morning, you got out of bed and padded into your little kitchen. Hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, you leaned against the counter and thought. 

You thought about Mark–how he never really looked at you. If his back wasn’t turned to you completely, his attention was always focused on whatever game he was playing. When he did look at you, you never felt like he saw you. He was always checking out your ass or dropping his gaze to the neckline of your shirts. He never really listened to you. He just nodded and then moved on to whatever thought had next crossed his mind. 

You thought about Negan, too. Of course you thought about him, he was never far from your mind. You thought about the way he looked at you–like he wanted to figure you out, like you were a puzzle he was desperate to solve. Like you fascinated him. You thought about how he smiled at you, laughing at your wit, challenging you with his own. 

And you thought about yourself. You thought about how you felt. How you’d been feeling alone in your relationship for a long time. That as much as it was  _ nice _ , you didn’t care very much. It had been disappointing, yes, when Mark didn’t show up the night before. But you hadn’t really, truly cared. You hadn’t felt much of anything about him in a while. 

But you definitely felt the butterflies that swarmed when Negan smiled at you, the excitement the deep rumble of his voice inspired. How safe you felt just knowing he was there. How, even after all this time, you still wanted to know everything about him–his stories, his touch, his favorite songs, his regrets, his love. 

_ I want you to be with someone that deserves you. Who realizes how goddamn special you are. _

At that moment, you made a decision. And then you got to work. 

By the time Mark finally showed up on Saturday evening, his stuff was neatly packed into a box by the front door. When you let him in, he nearly tripped over it. 

“Babe, what’s this shit? Are you taking stuff to Goodwill or something?” 

“You can take it to Goodwill if you want.” You said. “It’s your stuff. I don’t really care, I just want it out of my apartment.” 

“What?” 

“It’s over, Mark.” You said. “I think it’s been over for a while, actually.” 

He blinked, dumbstruck. “What do you mean, it’s over?” 

“I’m breaking up with you.” You said. 

“Baby, let’s talk about this.” He reached for your arm and you stepped out of his reach. 

“There isn’t much to talk about, Mark.” You crossed your arms. “You stood me up last night. Why?” 

“Oh shit, baby.” He closed his eyes, sighing. “The guys and I went out for a drink and then we came back and had some more and by the time I remembered it wouldn’t have been good to drive. Look, I didn’t put you in danger. I made a mature decision.” 

“Don’t talk to me about mature decisions.” You muttered. “I left you several voicemails asking what was going on. You couldn’t have called?”

“Is this about that stupid job interview? Because I already told you–” 

“Mark, it’s about more than that. We don’t work. You and me. And I’m done trying.” You said, picking up the box and shoving it into his arms. “So take your stuff and go. It’s over.” 

He opened his mouth as if to argue and then thought better of it. Mark scowled as you opened the front door for him, gripping the box tightly. On his way out, he turned back to spit a final insult. 

“You aren’t even that hot, good luck finding anybody else.” 

“I don’t need it, but thank you.” You gave him a big fake smile. “Have a nice life, Mark.” 

Before he could say anything else, you shut the door. Turning the lock, you turned and leaned your back against the smooth wood. Closing your eyes, you sighed in relief. When you straightened and moved inside to start making dinner, you felt ten times lighter. 

~

You were nervous. But also excited. Standing on the porch of a big beautiful colonial-style house, you were...nervited. 

You’d spent most of the day in good spirits– you’d taught your classes with more energy than you could usually muster on a Monday, you’d been quick to smile and everything seemed to have a brighter shine to it. 

The anticipation only really kicked in after the final bell rang at three o’clock and your phone chimed just a few minutes later. 

**Negan** |  **3:02 pm |** 6 tonight, 17 Sanctuary Dr.

**Negan | 3:02 pm |** Tell Mr. Nice Guy to wear grown-up clothes. 

You forced yourself to focus for the few hours in between then and now, getting everything all set up for your classes on Tuesday, before you let yourself think about dinner. While you got changed out of your usual cardigan and blouse ensemble into a simple but elegant black dress that flattered your figure, you told yourself to stay calm. It’s just dinner, you reminded yourself as you picked the fancy bottle of wine you’d been saving for a special occasion. This doesn’t have to be  _ anything _ , you thought, raising your hand to knock. 

You heard movement inside, footsteps as they approached the door, and then it was swinging open. You were immediately grateful for the decision not to wear heels, otherwise you would have almost certainly fallen over. 

Negan hadn’t changed too much from his normal school attire, but the small adjustments were enough to make your mind go blank. He traded his usual tan blazer for a black suit jacket and slacks. He’d also taken off his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, giving you just the smallest peek at the tan skin of his chest. 

You managed to gain some semblance of focus in time for him to finish raking his gaze over you, settling on your eyes as a big smile broke out across his face. 

“You’re always beautiful but... _ damn _ , sweetheart.” Negan bit his lip. “You know how to make an appearance.” 

The ratio of nerves to excitement swirling around your stomach immediately grew, heat flooding your body at his blatant admiration. 

“You too,” You dared to give him another once-over at the risk of your physical stability. “You clean up  _ really _ well.” 

He practically glowed at the compliment, giving you a big cheshire cat grin. With confident bravado, he glanced past you to the empty porch. 

“Where’s  _ Mark _ ?” 

“He, um,” You cleared your throat, “He won’t be joining us.” 

“Oh?” Negan raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” You tried to sound casual, nodding, “We broke up.” 

“ _ Oh. _ ” You didn’t think it was physically possible, but his smile got even bigger. “So it’s just you and me this evening.” 

“Just you and me.” You confirmed, your chest tightening at the sound of it– just you and Negan.

“What a fucking shame.” Negan teased, gesturing for you to come inside.

“I know...you’re stuck with me.” You managed a small laugh, stepping into his home. “At least I brought wine.” 

Negan took the bottle from you with a wink. “It’ll ease the pain.” 

“Exactly.” 

He shut the door, dropping his free hand to the small of your back. The warmth of his touch spread across your entire body, grounding you. You felt calmer, your nerves subsiding a bit as Negan led you further into the house. 

The walls were all light blue and cream colors, making the rooms feel even bigger than they were. Vintage tools and music posters decorated the walls. You passed the living room with a big couch and lots of bookshelves. 

“You have a beautiful home,” You said, “I always wanted to live in a big old house like this.” 

“It was a piece of shit when I bought it,” Negan laughed. “Took about a month of work and a fuck ton of new paint, but I think it looks pretty good.” 

“You renovated the whole thing?” 

“Well, me and my buddy Simon, but yeah.” 

“Damn.” You said as you reached the kitchen. “I’m impressed.” 

He had more counter space than you ever dreamed of plus an island in the middle with two stools on either side. Pots simmered on the stove, sending the distinctly delicious smell of pasta sauce through the air. 

“Careful sweetheart,” Negan warned, setting the bottle down on the counter and moving to grab two glasses from the cabinet. “You’re gonna make me blush.” 

“Can I do anything to help?” 

Negan shot you a look, twisting a corkscrew into the wine and popping the cork. “You can sit right there and rest for a while. I believe the arrangement was that I would make you dinner.” 

“I’m not proposing to take over,” You argued. “I just like being helpful.” 

“You can be my taste-tester, how about that?” 

“Ooh, I like that job.” You smiled, settling onto one of the stools at the island. 

“I thought you might,” He handed you a glass of wine. “Start with that.”

“Thanks.” You accepted, taking a sip. “Am I right in guessing we’re having spaghetti?” 

“One of my best recipes.” He turned back to the stove. “You said you liked good food, and this is one of the best.” 

You decided immediately that you could watch him cook for hours. With a towel over one shoulder, he made a particularly handsome chef. And with his attention on the food, you were free to let your eyes wander as much as you wanted. 

You hadn’t even realized you weren’t listening until he glanced at you and you straightened up quickly, your face burning. 

“Sorry, what?” 

He looked at you for a moment, smirking, before turning back to stir the pasta. “I asked how your classes went today.” 

“Oh, it was good.” You forced yourself to keep your eyes and your thoughts from wandering. “I handed back Ron’s paper rewrite. It was all his own this time and honestly, much better for it. He stayed after and we talked a little. I think he just came up against the deadline and thought copying would be better than turning in something bad or getting penalized for being late.” 

“Think he learned his lesson?” 

“I hope so.” You sighed. “I told him if he’s feeling like that again he should reach out. Hopefully he will.” 

“Here, tell me what you think of this…” Negan lifted the spoon from the sauce, holding his other hand underneath to catch any drips as he carried it over to you. 

You leaned forward, letting him tip the spoon into your mouth. The sauce tasted  _ amazing _ – a mix of seasonings blending with the tomato and what seemed to be traditionally spiced italian sausage. It reminded you of home somehow, comfort and simple pleasures. 

“Oh my god,” You practically moaned, “That’s amazing.” 

Negan watched you intently, his tongue running along his lips. A smile spread across his face, his gaze dipping to your mouth and then back up.

“Good.” 

You stared at each other for a moment longer, tension thick and heavy in the air between you. A little voice from deep inside you whispered, forget about dinner, forget about your worries and your questions and just do what you’d been wanting to do for so long. You were tempted, you were so incredibly tempted to get up and walk around the last remaining obstacle and kiss him. 

You had just put one foot on the floor when Negan started slightly, as if coming out of his own thoughts. 

“Well,” He cleared his throat, his voice huskier than it had been a minute ago. “I think dinner is ready.” 

“Can the taste-tester help set the table?” 

“Sure,” Negan chuckled. “Although I think since it’s just you and me now, it might be nice if we ate in here instead of the dining room.” 

“Less formal is fine with me.” You agreed, standing up. “Plates?” 

“The cabinet one from the right.” Negan directed, putting a bowl of salad onto the island. “Silverware is in the drawer to the left of the sink.” 

You put the plates next to the stove for Negan to dish out the pasta, returning to set out napkins and silverware on either side of the island. He brought the plates over, piled with the most delicious looking spaghetti you’d ever seen. After discarding the towel and topping off your glasses of wine, Negan settled down across from you. 

“Bon fucking appetit.” 

You laughed, picking up your fork and digging in. After the first bite, you hummed happily. 

“You were right.” 

Negan gave you a questioning look. 

“You said this was going to be the best meal I’ve ever had,” You said, twirling more spaghetti around your fork. “And this is it.” 

“You should be my taste-tester more often,” Negan chuckled. “You’re good for a chef’s ego.” 

“Please, I’ll taste-test anytime if it’s like this.” You laughed. 

“Don’t make promises, sweetheart.” Negan said, his voice suddenly low and serious, “I’ll hold you to them.” 

You lifted your wine, feeling suddenly quite bold as you looked at him over the rim of your glass. “I hope you do.” 

Negan was staring at you with that look again, like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve, like you were a box he couldn’t wait to unwrap and explore. It sent a tingle across your whole body, an undeniable thrill and anticipation. 

“Tell me something,” He said, “Why did you come back to Alexandria? I mean, you’re clearly a fucking amazing teacher. Anywhere would be lucky to have you, so why come back here?” 

“I guess...it just feels right. Like coming home again. It was weird at the beginning, feeling kind of like I was still a student playing pretend or something but now it feels right. I don’t know, there’s just something comforting about Alexandria. The classrooms and traditions,” You looked at him, “The people. Everything. I feel like I belong there.” 

“I’m glad you came back.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Hell yeah.” Negan nodded. “Broke my fucking heart, not hearing from you for six goddamn years. My favorite student and you never sent me an email or came back to visit.” 

You looked down at your plate, guilt settling like a stone in your stomach. You’d wanted to contact him. You’d wanted to keep in touch so badly. But you knew if you had, you would never have gotten over him. Although look how well  _ that  _ turned out…

“I’m sorry.” You frowned, trying to come up with some way of explaining that wouldn’t make him judge you. 

“Hey,” Negan reached across the table, setting his hand over yours. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about that. Really, I don’t give a shit about that anymore. I just thought I’d never see you again. I figured you’d already forgotten about your old history teacher. But when Ezekiel said your name at that faculty meeting…” 

He smiled, soft and sincere this time. 

“Felt like a second chance or some shit like that, I don’t know.” He squeezed your hand once before letting go. “I’m just glad you came back.” 

“Me too.” 

The two of you enjoyed the meal, talking and laughing until your plates and glasses were empty. As the conversation lulled, you stood up and began to clear the table. 

“Hey.” Negan frowned. 

You took his plate anyway, carrying them to the sink. “Our arrangement said nothing about who does the dishes, so...” 

As you looked over your shoulder to tease Negan, you were surprised to find him standing right behind you. You trailed off, butterflies erupting in your stomach at that same intent expression in the dark of his eyes. 

With slow yet certain movements, he reached up and took the sponge from your hand and dropped it into the sink. Pressing closer, he had you pinned with your back to the counter as the smooth fabric of his shirt brushed against your chest. His left hand slid over your hip, coming to rest against your waist as the other came up to your face. Instinctively, your hands fell to his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your palms. Negan lightly traced the curve of your cheek, his hand moving across your jaw and then under your hair to cradle the back of your head. He was still staring at you, hesitating to cross the invisible boundary you’d been tiptoeing around for so long. 

But the temptation was too much for you. Your hands slid up, gripping the open collar of his shirt as you pulled him to you. Your lips met in a kiss– simple but intense, making your mind reel at the contact. 

And then he was kissing you back, crushing your body against his. Negan deepened the kiss, pushing you backwards slightly with the vehemence of his attention. You pushed back, your hands moving to his face– feeling the scratch of his salt-and-pepper stubble beneath your palms. 

As your fingers raked through his hair, he groaned into the kiss, pulling you as close as he possibly could. You pulled back for air, chest heaving as you looked at him through your lashes. 

“You know,” You looked at his chest, circling the next button on his shirt with your fingertip. “I haven’t gotten the whole tour yet.” 

“Fuck the tour.” Negan ducked his head, leaving a bruising trail of kisses beneath your jaw before rasping into your skin: “Let’s just go to the bedroom.” 

“Yeah,” You gasped, feeling your knees begin to buckle. “Okay.” 

Even without the tour, it took a while to make it upstairs. Your shoes were left somewhere in the hallway along with his. You were fairly certain his suit jacket was tossed into the living room as you went past. It’s a miracle neither of you tripped on the stairs, he was so focused on kissing your neck as he followed you to the second floor. 

Negan pushed the door to his bedroom open from behind, shuffling the both of you inside just far enough for him to pin your back to the nearest wall. You grabbed his shirt again, pulling him in for another kiss. He was like a drug, and you were more than happy to overdose. 

As your lips moved together, you managed to finally unbutton his shirt. You broke the kiss, shoving the white fabric away from his body. He had tattoos, you were delighted to discover. Your hand traced the cross on his right bicep for a moment before you leant down to kiss the intricate skull above his heart. 

His hands tangled in your hair and pulled your head up so he could kiss you again. Your hands explored his newly bared skin, scratching lightly at the light speckling of hair running across his chest and trailing down his stomach. 

Negan pulled you off the wall, guiding you further into the room. He stopped long enough for his fingers to find the zipper on the side of your dress, pulling it down. He stepped back, barely biting back a smile as he watched you. Keeping eye contact, you let the dress drop to the floor. Your bra came next, dropping down beside the dress. You took your time stepping out of your underwear, getting an inordinate amount of joy in the power you held over him for the moment. You stepped out of the fabric, standing before him. 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ me.” He exclaimed, taking you in from head to toe. 

You cocked your head, giving him a coquettish smile. “If you insist.” 

His expression settled into something dark at your words and you knew there was absolutely no going back. 

“Get on the bed.” 

Excitement tingling along your spine, you complied, settling up against the headboard. You had your own turn then, biting your lip as Negan shed what remained of his own clothes before joining you. 

He crawled up to join you, holding the back of your head and kissing you again. You lost yourself in it for a while, the warmth of his touch and the strength of your affection for one another. 

And then Negan returned his attention to your jaw, kissing his way back down your neck to your collarbone. 

“I’ve wanted this for a long time.” He murmured, hands caressing you in a way that made your vision go blurry. 

“Me too,” You breathed, your back arching into his mouth as his lips reached your chest. 

Negan moved lower, chuckling into your stomach as he looked back up at you. “Does that mean we’re fucked up?” 

“Yeah, but you’re definitely more fucked up than m–” Your laughter turned into a halting gasp as his head settled between your legs.

Your retort died on your lips, turning into a moan as one hand gripped the sheets and the other took hold of his hair. Your head, empty of all thoughts except  _ Negan, _ tipped back against the pillows. He explored and toyed and devoured until you were just on the brink, just teetering over the edge of oblivion. And then he pulled away. 

“Negan,” You moaned, half in bliss, half in annoyance. “Please.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” He sat up, pulling you into his lap. “But only because you asked so nicely.” 

Pressed close to his chest, your legs wrapped around his waist and the smell of him all around you, he guided you down onto him. Eyes pinched shut at the overwhelming feeling of it all, you cried out. Negan pressed his forehead to yours, whispering sweet encouragements as he peppered your face with kisses. 

When you were ready, you moved. Negan didn’t push or try to take over, he just held you. He kept you steady, he grounded you. The unspoken support, the clear reverence he held for your pleasure only made it feel so much better. 

Once you’d set a comfortable pace, he began to move with you. His hands on your waist, he’d meet your hips with his own and hit that hidden place which sent the room spinning. You were beginning to lose sense of it all, the words coming from your mouth and the thoughts floating through your mind were all just him, just  _ Negan _ . You were dimly aware of his voice in your ear, praising you; of his lips on your neck and your chest and your lips. 

And then like you’d somehow turned away or blinked long enough, it was upon you– that hot, startling, fantastic sensation. The coil, which had been wound tighter and tighter deep in your belly, snapped. And Negan snapped with it, his hips stuttering as his head dropped onto your shoulder to groan against your glistening skin. 

You stayed there for a while, breathing and basking in the aftermath together. Just the two of you, wrapped up in the bliss of each other. You dropped your face into the crook of his neck, completely spent. 

With a low chuckle, he maneuvered so you were lying on your back against the pillows. He pulled away, promising to be right back before padding off to what you could only assume was the bathroom. You’d hadn’t really been paying attention to the layout of the room, let alone the second floor. 

Your head lolled to the side, very happy to admire him as he walked back over to you. 

“You checking me out, sweetheart?” 

“Mmhmm.” You nodded, smiling. 

“I know you were checking me out in the kitchen, by the way,” He said, running a warm washcloth over your skin, “I was really fucking tempted to give up on dinner at that point.” 

“So was I.” 

“Well shit.” Negan leaned forward and kissed you again, “Why did I wait?” 

“Delayed gratification?” You suggested. 

“Fuck that.” Negan tossed the washcloth away somewhere, settling on the bed next to you. 

You turned to face him, unable to stifle a yawn. “Yeah, it’s overrated anyway.”

He pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

You cuddled close, resting your head on his chest. With his arms wrapped securely around your body, his warmth surrounding you, you fell into the deepest, most restful sleep you’d had in a long time. 

~

“Now I know what all you dudes are thinking: ‘Summer reading? No way. Summer is for the beach and waking up late every day and eating ice cream.’ You are not wrong.” Jerry smiled at your class. “But let me tell you why summer is also for reading.” 

You smiled, standing off to the side as Jerry made his presentation to your class. On the last day of school you figured that if anyone could convince your tenth graders to pick up a book in the three months before you’d see them again, it was Jerry. 

He clicked a new slide on his presentation, displaying a picture of a buff surfer riding a wave that he’d photoshopped with his face and a book in hand. A soft chuckle made its way around your students. Jerry grinned at you, flashing a thumbs up. 

You smiled, returning the gesture. 

A low whistle from the stacks behind you caught your attention. Confused, you turned to see where it had come from. Your heart stuttered at the sight of a very familiar figure. 

Negan leaned casually against a bookshelf, watching you. Smiling with all the confidence of a man very aware of his power, he raised a hand and beckoned for you to come closer. 

Biting your lip, you weighed your options. Glancing back at your class, you decided they were in safe enough hands with Jerry. They wouldn’t miss you for just a few minutes, right? 

Slowly and casually, you walked into the tall corridors of bookshelves. Negan said nothing when you reached him, he just took your hand and pulled you deeper into the stacks. 

“Negan–” 

“Shhh.” He quieted you, tugging you into the biography section. 

Hands on either side of your head, he caged you against the shelf. Negan leaned in, his nose just brushing against your own.

“Negan, what are you doing?” You whispered. 

“Just saying hello.” 

His lips were so close, you could feel the words tingling just millimeters away from your own. 

You hummed, smiling softly. “This doesn’t feel like hello.” 

“You know you’re right, sweetheart.” He rumbled, “Hello usually involves a kiss, doesn’t it?” 

Without another word, he pressed forward and captured your lips in a deep kiss. Your hands moved instinctually to his face, feeling the delicious scratch of his beard as you kissed him back. Negan’s hand dropped to your hip, pulling you closer. Your hand slid around to the back of his head, fingers tugging the hair at the base of his skull. A noise traveled up from his chest, somewhere between a growl and a moan. 

He pulled back to breathe, ducking down to kiss the spot under your ear where your jaw and neck met. You gripped his shoulders, your breath hitching. 

“I’m going to fuck you so good tonight, sweetheart.” He murmured. 

“Negan!” You exclaimed in surprise. 

From several aisles over, you heard someone shush you. Flushing hot with embarrassment, you remembered exactly where you were. 

Negan stepped back a bit, giving you a self-satisfied smirk. “Hey, I’m just being honest here.” 

“Yeah, well–” You cleared your throat, adjusting your skirt. “You’re also an asshole.” 

He chuckled. “But I’m your asshole, right?” 

“We’ll see.” You threatened, but you couldn’t quite keep a straight face. 

You smoothed the lapel of his jacket. “I should get back to my students…” 

“I don’t know, you’ll probably win Teacher of the Year anyway.” 

Giving into temptation one more time, you stepped forward and kissed him. He kissed you back, softly this time, with his hands cradling your face. You made sure to pull back before things got carried away again.

“I’ll see you at home.” You promised, forcing yourself to walk away. 

“Yes you fucking will.” Negan gave you a dark look that made you want to melt right there. 

You shook your head, smiling. “I hate you.” 

“Well, I love you.” Negan shrugged, grinning. “So tough shit, sweetheart.” 

“So romantic.” You started to walk away, turning back just long enough to send him a wink. “And I love you too. Asshole.” 

As you walked away, you could hear him laughing. Someone shushed him again, but he ignored them, the sound putting an uncontrollable smile on your face. 

Yeah, this was where you belonged. 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and tell me what you think <3


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